’ And,” he added whimsically, “it’s a mighty fine one for obliterating original brands, now I come to study it.”
But Dan turned sharply on the two men.
“Let’s hear it,” he said; and there was no pleasantness in his tone.
It was Joe Bloc who took the lead. Dutchy, though speaking the language of the West freely enough, had, in moments of involved explanation, still the Teutonic failing of involving the verb.
“You see, boss,” said Joe, his eyes steadily fixed on the foreman’s unflinching face, “we got the news in Barnriff. We’d been out for nigh four days, and we’d decided to ride in here to get fresh plugs. Ours wus good an’ done, an’ we’d set ’em in Doc Crombie’s barn, an’ had got over to the saloon for a feed.”
“Feed?”
But Dan’s sarcasm had no effect.
“That’s how, boss. Wal, right in the bar was one of the ‘
P’ boys––one of old man Blundell’s hands.”